


twenty five (and still alive)

by myaekingheart



Category: Naruto
Genre: Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myaekingheart/pseuds/myaekingheart
Summary: In which Kakashi Hatake pores over his life thus far and questions how he’s managed to live as long as he has.at twenty five, all hope has diedand the glass of my intentions turns to sandand shatters in my hand.- 25, The Pretty Recklesshttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=As03tlODkdw
Kudos: 4





	twenty five (and still alive)

Kakashi slicked his hair back with his hand only for it to immediately flop back into place. He heaved a sigh and dropped his fist on the counter with a heavy thud. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to look up at his reflection, to see his father’s face reflected in his strong jawline and desperate, bloodshot eyes. The dark circles. The bruises on his knuckles. The pallor of his skin. The reflection of his past, his mistakes. It was his 25th birthday and he couldn’t comprehend how he was still breathing.

What would his father think if he was here now? He wouldn’t think anything, Kakashi quickly answered. Because if his father were here, then things would be different. Then he would be a different man. He would be tall and proud, his eyes would be full of life. He would have a wife and children. He would be successful. The blood on his hands would cease to exist.

And then suddenly, Kakashi became very angry with his father. With the path that this long lost man had sent him down in the first place. Sakumo’s son, the prodigy. Intelligence like that needed to be taken advantage of, to be trained and perfected at a young age. A sour taste filled Kakashi’s mouth as he thought of the youth ripped so quickly from his hands. A toddler playing with knives. A child soldier. Isn’t that what they all were? But Kakashi didn’t know any better. He should be able to trust his own father, shouldn’t he? To follow his instruction without fear or question? Kakashi’s stomach lurched, saliva flooding his mouth. For a moment he thought he was going to be sick, but instead he merely spat into the sink and shoved the rest of the bile back down his throat.

He had to remind himself that his childhood was not all bad. He was ethereal and supreme. His talent made him popular. He had Minato and Obito and Rin. He had the delight of his father. To see Sakumo smile was reward enough. All he ever wanted was to please his father.

Kakashi tried his hardest to block out age seven. He knew what had happened, everyone knew what had happened. There was no use in reiterating the obvious. And yet his gut still clenched at the vision of the limp body on the living room floor, blood pooling across the wood and seeping into the cracks. The first of many gunshots to his sanity. _Bang_.

Truly, how dare he. How dare Sakumo take his life, abandon his child, after shoving him down a path he was never sure he wanted in the first place. There was no turning back now. Kakashi had already delved too deep. He was trapped. There were so many other things he could’ve done with himself if he had only been given the chance to discover what those things might be. War, however, pays no mind to what _you_ want. War rips through like a tornado, destroying everything in its wake. War destroyed Kakashi.

He never should’ve been given a position of authority. He was progressing too fast, like a rock rolling down a hill. _Unstoppable_. He was losing control. It was too much responsibility. He was so young.

They could not abandon their mission. No matter what, they could not abandon their mission. They could not abandon _Rin_. Kakashi clutched the edge of the counter as he remembered her face: kind eyes, bright smile. He could still feel her hand on his cheek as she congratulated him, the love in her eyes, the sick twisting of his stomach. She disgusted him. He hated her. It didn’t feel right. She did not belong to him, but she didn’t seem to know that. If he had just let them kill her then in the cave, maybe he would’ve been rid of this sickening guilt and anger. But Obito loved her. And Obito loved him. Those who broke the rules were scum, but those who abandoned a comrade were worse than scum.

Kakashi was scum. He could feel the muck in the pit of his stomach, in the back of his throat. Feel it filling his head and blurring his vision. A boulder, an avalanche. Obito. _Bang._

He promised to protect her. It was Obito’s dying wish, and he failed. His left eye burned as she fell to the ground, lifeless. A hole in her chest. Blood on her hands. Blood on _his_ hands. _Bang._

And then the birth. The screeching, the dust and debris. The monster let loose upon Konoha. Kakashi didn’t know why he was let go before the birth. He had spent nine months guarding Kushina. Not attending the birth of her child felt incomplete, even if it did scare him. As Konoha tried to mend itself, he wondered if there was anything he could’ve done if he had been there. If anything would’ve been different. His mismatched eyes slowly rose to the stone face of the Fourth Hokage looming above him and he clenched his fists at his sides. _Bang_.

It was the same question over and over again that he screamed in his head every night. _Why not me?_ He couldn’t be so damn special. There was no reason for his heart to still beat. Especially when it was so empty. His rested his palm on his chest and considered channeling all of his chakra into his fist, just punching himself straight through the heart. To get it over with. Every year older was another surprise. Another year of wondering why. Another year of considering. After all, what was the point of fate if you couldn’t take hold of it in your damn hands?

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. He set his hand slowly back down on the counter and groaned. The screech of his Chidori, the ringing in his ears, the pins and needles as the electricity pulsed around his hand. It was all too much. Perhaps suicide itself was even undeserved. If he truly wanted to torture himself, then the best way was to continue living. To continue breathing and bleeding in a useless world. A world with no hope and no future. A world with no destiny.

Kakashi bid himself one last look at his reflection, at the features so closely resembling his father’s. _I should go visit him_ , Kakashi thought. He envisioned himself lying down in the dirt beside his father’s grave, the makeshift memorial of stone and soil. The clouds would roll in overhead, dark and sinister, and a flash of lightning would crack in the distance. He would pull his mask down and let the rain hit every inch of his face like little needles, cold and piercing. And he would tug tufts of grass from the ground and dirty his nails in the dirt and wonder how much longer he was expected to last. _One, two, three, four…one, two, three, four…_

Another crack of lightning and Kakashi snapped from his daze. He tugged his mask back up over his face and turned away from the bathroom mirror. He would visit his father another day. 


End file.
